


Bleed

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent due to Alcohol, M/M, over-stimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I doubt you could handle my blood."</p>
<p>Set right after 10x23, Brother's Keeper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: The consent is very dubious due to inhuman levels of alcohol consumption. Also, Crowley is deliberately taking advantage of the fact that Castiel isn't in his right mind.
> 
> This has not been beta-read. I wrote this about a month after the episode, but because of the dcbb I didn't get around to editing it until a couple of days ago. (my dcbb fic goes up on the 10th, yay!!)

There's still blood under his eyes.

Absently, Castiel rubs his left thumb into his skin – his right hand is too busy tightly grasping the long neck of a bottle of vodka. When he pulls his thumb away, it's smudged with a red that is starting to darken. It makes him think of ink. He snorts and draws the pad of his thumb across the bottle, drawing a faint 'C' into the glass. Leaving his mark. How very human of him.

Castiel scowls. He's had enough of marks. He tips back the bottle and drinks steadily, adam's apple bobbing until the last drop of vodka is drained away. The glass smashes and scatters across the floor when he drops it, and he takes a strange, fierce satisfaction in the small destruction.

“Oi, watch it!” An elbow jabs him in the ribs and Castiel's scowl deepens. “We won't have anywhere to fall over later if you keep that up.”

Castiel picks up a piece of glass and throws it at his companion's head. “I would have thought you'd appreciate the gesture.”

Crowley chuckles and plucks the clear glass out of his hair, holding it up towards his nose like it's a flower he just has to smell. “Cas, you flirt. Try dipping it in blood next time.”

“Oh _god._ ” Castiel turns away with an exasperated toss of his hands. It's the first time he's said his father's name in years, the very first time he's ever taken it in vain. It sends a tingling rush of rebellion down his spine and he shudders with it. “Just drink. Stop talking.”

Crowley chuckles. He very carefully sets the piece of glass behind Castiel's ear, and when the angel reaches up he discovers the demon has actually turned it into a flower. He rolls his eyes and lets his hand drop, refuses to think about what kind of flower it might be and very carefully doesn't consider why he's leaving it there.

“I don't like vodka,” Castiel says abruptly. He nudges the shards of the bottle across the floor with the toe of his shoe. “It's bitter.”

“An angel with a sweet tooth. How quaint.” Crowley says it with a sneer, but Castiel can hear warmth infused into his tone. It confuses him, mostly because it makes him want to smile. “Here, try this.”

A new bottle is shoved into Castiel's hand. The liquid is a light amber, and when Castiel yanks the cork free it smells sweet. He tilts his head in question and Crowley waves a hand at the label. “Champagne. Not the dry kind, you'd hate it.”

Castiel squints at the label. “The alcohol percentage isn't very high.”

“We've got all night.” Crowley plucks another bottle from the shelf for himself, then twists his head over his shoulder to give Castiel a raised eyebrow. “Unless you have plans?”

He should. They let out the Darkness. Castiel feels it like a surge of pure wrong, thicker and darker than even Lucifer. Half of him is overjoyed because it means that Dean is cured, and the other half is so terrified that he can't bring himself to function properly. He wonders when the relationship between the three of them became nothing but saving each other. They used to care about other people, and he's drunk enough to admit that saving others has become barely more than an excuse they throw around.

He drinks what Crowley gave him, and thinks that really, it's the relationship between the four of them, now.

“I want to stop thinking,” Castiel mutters. He tosses the bottle aside and smirks when it smashes alongside the first. He looks over at Crowley, now slumped against the shelf with a different bottle in each hand. “How do you not care?”

Crowley snorts. He drains whatever is in his left hand and throws it down with Castiel's mess, apparently ignoring his earlier protests. “I don't remember,” he says bitterly. “Dean bloody Winchester saw to that.”

“You care about him.” It's not a question. Loving Dean Winchester is an inescapable force, and Castiel can sense that same pull – and the complete lack of will to fight it – in Crowley, just as he can feel it in Sam. He smirks again because it's easier to pretend this is all some kind of joke instead of an attempt at escapism. “You care about me.”

He reaches up and touches the flower behind his ear like that proves something. Likely because he's fairly certain it does. Crowley sighs and takes another long pull from his other bottle.

“You need to stop thinking,” Crowley says. He grabs a random bottle off the shelf and thrusts it at Castiel. It's a dark green, and the title reads Jagermeister.

Castiel takes the bottle, and the second he has a firm grip on it Crowley's hand flies up to his face. Fingertips scrub roughly at the skin beneath his eye, and it's a testament to how drunk he is – or, perhaps, how tired he feels – that Castiel not only doesn't pull away from the touch, he leans in closer.

“I need to stop thinking,” Crowley says harshly. He jerks his hand away from Castiel and drains the remainder of his bottle.

“ _Cas!”_

_The name held meaning, an impossible depth of it, but he didn't know why. It was hard to think around the ferocity tearing at his mind, demanding he kill. He wanted to tear the flesh from this creature's throat, feel the fleshy give of it between his teeth. He wanted the warmth of blood soaking his hands, wanted to bathe in it until he'd taken it all for himself and left the creature a shriveled, hollow shell. He let out a snarl and lunged at the creature, hands raised to take._

_The creature cursed quietly and vanished. He fell, momentum forcing him down onto the floor. He howled and scrambled onto his back, eyes darting frantically for the creature only to find it a few feet away._

“ _Cas! You're stronger than she is!”_

_He hesitated. Stronger than who? Everyone. He was stronger than everyone, and he would prove it._

_His next lunge sent the creature crashing down onto its back. He snarled, teeth bared as he snapped at the creature's throat, but the smaller hands wrapped around his own throat were stronger than they should have been. The creature was speaking again, solid red eyes wide and frantic and... something else. Something he recognized. He paused, sniffed at the air because he liked the smell of it. The creature ceased its words and went still, holding him at bay but easing up just a little when he leaned in closer, drawing in the smell more deeply. There was fear in it and it was delicious, but there was something more beneath it. Fierce, feral, a tinge of cruelty, and... affection?_

_He purred. Maybe he wouldn't kill this creature. Maybe they could kill something else together. The thought of sharing blood pleased him._

“ _Cas?”_

_He settled down on top of the creature, letting it hold his throat even as he twisted to nuzzle its arm. He purred again, hoping the sound would communicate his new intentions. The creature made a low rumbling sound in its chest that sent vibrations rushing along his skin. He nuzzled the creature again, purring louder to let it know that the sound was acceptable._

“ _Right,” the creature said. “Cas? You understand me, angel?”_

_The creature winced when it said the last word, and he tilted his head curiously. Was he angel? He liked the word. His rage began to fade in pleasure over this odd creature. He went limp over it, bearing down with his full weight so that it couldn't escape. That rumbling sound rolled through it again, and he felt the hands around his throat loosen._

“ _Don't tear out my throat, alright, kitten?” the creature said, and let him go completely. He made a small sound of protest over the word 'kitten'; he didn't like that one. Still, it was a very small displeasure, so he leaned down and nuzzled the creature's throat instead of ripping it open. They would destroy another together, later._

“ _Under different circumstances, this might be incredibly appealing,” the creature said. A hand came up and threaded through his hair and ohh, he liked that very much. He purred loudly in encouragement._

“ _Crowley,” he said suddenly. That's right. He knew the creature._

_The body beneath him stiffened but almost immediately relaxed again. “In the stolen flesh, love.”_

_He grinned. He's not sure why that was amusing, but he was also fairly certain he didn't actually care._

_Hands cupped his face and lifted it until he was staring into eyes that were still a deep red. He tried to tip his head curiously, but the motion was stopped by the strength the creature – Crowley – possessed._

“ _Sorry about this,” Crowley said, and then he let out a bark of a laugh like he was startled. “Well, not really.”_

_The demon's lips were soft and thin against his own. Awareness snapped through Castiel and he groaned, eyes squeezing shut in a physical reaction to the struggle of fighting the spell._

“Kissing isn't actually supposed to break spells,” Castiel blurts. It's a strange word, blurt. It rather fits the complete lack of control he has over the words as they tumble across his lips.

Crowley snorts from where he's sunk down onto the floor. He's still leaning on the shelf, and he has a new bottle in his hand. He thrusts it towards Castiel in a mocking toast. “Kissing is binding magic,” Crowley confirms. It irritates Castiel how easily his words come. They both need to be drunker. “But technically, so is that beast spell Mother is so fond of.”

Ah. That makes sense. “You forced two similar spells to contradict each other,” Castiel says, impressed. Oh, how he hates that he's impressed with a demon. “That gave me the awareness I needed to break it.”

It's a good explanation, solid and logical, and it does exactly nothing to assure the angel. He reacted when Crowley kissed him, not just to the warring magics inside him, but to the sensation itself. They never opened their mouths, but just the feel of warmth and softness pressed against him made Castiel hungry. For what, he wasn't sure. It didn't feel like that when he kissed April, but he thinks it feels just a little like it did to kiss Meg.

_The magic strained and snapped, a chord he could hear in his mind like an angry screech. He rolled away from Crowley, from the kiss and the warmth and the hunger, but the last was something he knew he couldn't really escape. He scrambled to his feet, heart hammering against his chest and his grace writhing within his body. Crowley lay still for a moment, looking strangely disappointed, before he too pulled himself upright._

“ _That was amusing.” Crowley stepped closer, right into arms reach. Castiel stared down at him, feeling drained and tired like he never would have before he lost his grace. It was good, more than good, to have it returned to him, but it was still reconnecting with him and this form. “You've got a little something...” Crowley nodded towards Castiel, but when the angel didn't move he rolled his eyes and lifted a hand._

“ _What are you doing?” Castiel stepped back, eyes narrow and wary. The movement pulled at something against his cheeks, warm and moist._

“ _Just hold still,” Crowley admonished. He reached up and, very gently, swiped his thumb under Castiel's left eye. When he drew his hand back, there was blood staining the pad of his thumb. The demon brought it to his lips, swiped his tongue across it and his eyes, which had returned to the body's normal color, flashed red again._

“ _You taste good,” Crowley murmured. He repeated the motion beneath Castiel's right eye, and for a reason the angel truly couldn't fathom, he allowed it._

“ _What do I taste like?” Castiel frowned. That was not what he meant to say._

_Crowley licked his thumb and chuckled, low and dark. “Like tears and anger and violence,” he said, almost gleefully. And then, as an afterthought, “And love.”_

_Castiel blinked. He tilted his head, and then said in a somber tone he saved for the most dire situations, “I need a drink.”_

_Crowley let his hand fall to his side and gave a single, tight nod. “Right behind you, darling.”_

“I need to help them,” Castiel says, words only slightly slurred by the inhuman levels of alcohol he has consumed. The evidence of it lies piled around them; they've worked their way through nearly the entire liquor store. Benders are better with companions, Castiel thinks with a small, helpless chuckle.

“Who?” Crowley mumbles. He slumps more fully against Castiel. He was right to think they would end up on the floor. Castiel doesn't know how much time has passed, but he does know that the firm weight of the demon pressed back to back with him feels nicer than it should. “Moose and Squirrel?”

Castiel chuckles again. “Dean is not a squirrel,” he denies. He pauses, brows furrowing tightly into an exaggerated frown. “But Sam could be a moose. He's so large.”

Crowley waves a hand that Castiel can just see out of the corner of his eye. “Dean has to be Squirrel. Don't you watch cartoons?”

“Only the Roadrunner,” Castiel replies, and then he bursts into a sudden and overwhelming fit of hysterics as he recalls the look on Dean's face when Castiel watched said cartoon. He was so surprised by Castiel's interpretation of the storyline, but the angel knew Dean found Castiel's enjoyment of it just as hilarious as Castiel found the show.

“I'm a little surprised you haven't left already,” Crowley says, and his voice is so sincere that Castiel twists his head over his shoulder to look at him, surprised. “They could be dead.”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head. “I would know. I've known every time before.” He sighs heavily and lets his head fall back, firmly not letting himself think about the fact that it was now resting against Crowley's shoulder. “They haven't called for me.”

“You always come when they call. Such a good dog.”

Castiel snorts. “I was a good dog under Heaven's reign,” he says, because he's drunk enough to find the idea somewhat amusing. “Now I... I don't know what I am.”

“Human,” Crowley says instantly, bitterly.

That's probably true. Castiel sighs again and tips his head a little further, trying to meet Crowley's eyes when all he can really see is an ear, part of his cheek, his hair. “I can smell humanity on you,” Castiel fires back.

The demon nods. His hair brushes Castiel's temple, soft. “Senses must be interesting to you,” he says. “At least I had them before I became a demon. You never did.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I had senses. Just not human senses. And yes, it's... odd. But much less so than it used to be.”

The conversation is so lucid, the words so clear that it makes Castiel's head ache. He grabs the nearest bottle and tips it back, ignoring the trails of warm liquid that run out either side of his mouth because he's too lazy to lift his head.

When he lowers the bottle, Crowley has somehow contorted himself just enough to be able to stare down at Castiel. He licks his lips in a way that makes Castiel tilt his head. He's seen Dean do that on more than one occasion, and it always means he's seen something he likes.

“What?” Castiel mutters. He's finally starting to feel that pleasant, fuzzy sensation that means his higher brain power is shutting down. He really does love being in this body. There's no way to dull himself like this outside of it.

Crowley says nothing. He shifts, pressing a hand flat between Castiel's shoulder blades to keep him from sinking down to the floor. He bends his head, and Castiel has only a second to realize what's happening before Crowley licks a path up his cheek, the tip of his warm tongue flicking into the corner of Castiel's mouth, teasing. Castiel shudders and tilts his head closer. His lips tingle with awareness of how close Crowley is. The demon shifts further, still holding him up with that one hand but now sitting beside him. Castiel's head falls back, the muscles in his neck feeling too loose. His throat is exposed to the king of Hell, and the knowledge that it makes him feel vulnerable wrenches a groan from deep in his chest.

“Do something or stop touching me,” Castiel growls, lifting his head just enough to glare, and Crowley dives down and takes his mouth.

This time, Castiel parts his lips and lets Crowley's tongue dive inside. It's warm and slick, and it doesn't so much slide over and it does completely engulf Castiel's own tongue. He was in control when he kissed Meg, and April's kisses were soft. This is an invasion. Crowley is _taking_ from him, plunging in deep whether Castiel wants it or not. Owning him. Castiel chokes out a helpless moan and lets him, stays limp and pliant in the demon's arms and tries desperately not to think about how much he likes it.

Crowley pulls away after a moment, letting them both suck in a gulp of air that neither of them need. He chases the second trail of liquid down to Castiel's throat, nips at the pulse point hard enough to sting only to press a gentle kiss to it seconds later.

“If I'd known all I had to do was get you drunk, I'd have had you years ago,” Crowley says. He nuzzles behind Castiel's ear in an affectionate way that both confuses and pleases Castiel. He knows Crowley wants him, wants to defile him, drag him down even further than he's already fallen. Affection never needed to be part of that equation, and yet there it is, just like it was with Meg, defying everything the angel has ever understood about demons and what they are meant to be. He wants to attribute it to the human blood he knows Crowley is still taking, but something tells him it runs deeper than that.

“I'm tired,” Castiel whispers. He's not sure if he's talking to himself or Crowley. He's gone completely limp now, and he doesn't resist when Crowley drags him half into his lap, now cradling the back of his head while his other hand comes up to Castiel's face. Fingertips rub under his eyes again, pressing at the last lingering traces of crimson.

“I doubt you could handle my blood,” Castiel says quietly.

Crowley reaches over Castiel and picks up a shard of glass. He shows it to the angel, eyes wide and pupils dilated. Castiel says nothing. He shrugs one arm from his coat and then holds it up in a silent offering, ignoring the rational part of him that's screaming beneath the pleasant haze of alcohol.

Crowley rolls down Castiel's sleeve, tucking it up just above his elbow. The slash of the glass across his wrist takes a moment to register, and when it does it is a sharp sting that makes Castiel hiss. He clenches his fist to increase the blood flow and presses his wrist to Crowley's mouth, sucking in a shaky breath when the demon's lips seal around the wound and begin to suck. It hurts, slicing into his skin the way the glass did, but it also feels good, warm and delicious because he's being taken from again. The hand supporting his head clenches and then lets him fall onto Crowley's thigh. It comes up to instead hold Castiel's wrist tightly to Crowley's mouth. The demon sucks harder, tongue laving insistently at the wound as he growls into Castiel's skin. The angel closes his eyes, gasping quietly when he feels his body responding to the stimulus, to the strange arousal he feels at being owned and taken care of all at once. He spreads his legs, wanton and too far gone to care. Crowley hums against Castiel's skin. He slides a hand down Castiel's stomach and between his legs, kneading firmly at the growing bulge through Castiel's slacks.

The angel moans through lips sealed tight against words he doesn't want to say. He bucks up into Crowley's hand and keeps his eyes shut, riding out the tingles of pleasure pooling steadily out from his cock. The pleasure twists the agony in his wrist to something hot and needy and it makes him dizzy, makes him writhe and choke around a desperate “yes!” that forces itself from his throat. Crowley laughs against Castiel's wrist and begins to rub hard and fast. There's two layers of clothing between his hand and Castiel's cock, and it doesn't seem to matter. He sucks violently at Castiel's wrist and the angel comes, rocking his hips frantically into Crowley's hand as he rides out the waves of his orgasm. It crests and begins to crash, but Crowley just keeps going.

“Stop!” Castiel gasps.

Crowley lets his wrist go. He licks the blood from his lips and lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he kneads and presses his palm in rapid, short strokes over the head of Castiel's cock. It grinds the slick heat of Castiel's come into the oversensitive flesh and he hisses, tossing his head as he tries to pull away.

“One more,” Crowley says. His eyes flash, red and then briefly white. Castiel wonders if it's the affect of his blood.

“It's too much,” Castiel groans. He tries to close his legs but then lets them fall open again, panting as Crowley lets him go just long enough to unzip his fly and shove a hand into both his pants and boxers.

“One more,” Crowley orders, stripping Castiel's cock as fast as the confinement will allow. He grins fiercely when Castiel screams, the angel's entire body shaking with the force of too much pleasure. He uses his free hand to press down on Castiel's chest, keeping him just still enough that he can rub his own hard cock against Castiel's back.

“I can't!” Even as the words tumble from his lips he knows he can, and that he will. It's already building, threatening to spill over. Helplessly, he spreads his legs wider and lets Crowley manipulate him. The demon's lips part around a quiet moan. His hips stutter against Castiel's back and the angel knows he came, that it was likely Castiel's submission that pushed him over. It arouses him where it should disgust him.

Castiel bites his lip as he is forcibly pushed over the edge again, holding back another scream. His hips buck desperately both into and away from Crowley's hand, his body firing signals of too much and not enough. A high, keening whine escapes him and Crowley finally stops. He slides his fingers once through the mess of come and withdraws his hand, licking the evidence away while Castiel watches through half-lidded eyes.

“I hate you,” Castiel mutters, and buries his face in Crowley's stomach. He's exceedingly glad that he's still drunk.

Crowley just laughs and strokes a hand over Castiel's hair. “I don't know about you, but I need another drink.”

Castiel opens his mouth to agree, and that's when he hears Dean's prayer. It's quick and reassuring and entirely wordless, letting him know that Dean is okay, and so is Sam, but they need him. His wings automatically extend but he's still too weak to fly, and there's no way he can drive like this.

He's gathering the will to push himself to his feet when Crowley sighs and clasps his hand to the back of the angel's neck. “Your wings may be clipped, but I'm still fully operational.”

Castiel stiffens. “Can you... hear him?”

“Of course I can hear him!” Crowley sounds almost angry, and the hand around Castiel's neck tightens. “Or rather, I can feel the little bastard when he's reaching out. Shall we?”

Castiel nods. A thought cleans his skin and fixes his clothing, but he doesn't bother to clear away the haze of alcohol. He has a feeling he's going to need it.

When he sits up, something falls to the floor. He twists in Crowley's grip, and his eyes widen when he sees what is lying beside the demon's thigh.

“I'm not pure,” Castiel snaps, wrenching himself away from Crowley and to his feet. He stumbles and has to reach out to brace a hand against the nearest shelf. He hears Dean again, a clear call of his name this time. Sam prays to him seconds later, telling him the Darkness was there but that it's gone now, they're okay.

Something slides behind his ear, a sharp point pricking dangerously against his skin. He twists his head to glare at the smirking demon at his side as Crowley settles the white rose back into place.

“Maybe I just want to see the look on their faces,” Crowley says, almost defensively.

Castiel holds his glare for maybe a second before he laughs, soft and tired. He rolls his eyes and reaches out to clap a hand to Crowley's shoulder. “Fine. Let's go.”

~

END


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